Choices
by Adele Elisabeth
Summary: They had pieces of time that didn't exist. And then there was nothing. (Three Musketeers missing scene, RochefortAramis)


[Disclaimer: Disney and Dumas own _'The Three Musketeers'_, I guess. I don't think either of them would want to be associated with this, though…]

Author's Note:

Well, Musey wanted Rochefort/Aramis having a Moment™, and since I couldn't make that work in _International Relations_, here it is.

Consider it a missing slashy interlude from _The Three Muskteers_.

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Choices

By Adele Elisabeth

Rochefort/Aramis: They had pieces of time that didn't exist. And then there was nothing.

---

He was waiting for the words.

'This was a mistake. You should leave.'

You know. Those ones.

He was used to hearing them, by now. They always came, inevitably. It was the way things were. They'd be said, and he would agree. Then tomorrow he would face him, and forget.

Only things weren't going according to plan. As the silence stretched out, moment by moment, 'the way things are' was coming unraveled.

"You're very quiet," he said finally, daring to glance over at where Gautier Rochefort still lay, half-under the blankets, staring up at the ceiling.

There was a noncommittal noise, and a slight shifting, followed by, "Yes."

He wondered if there was a polite way to say 'and I'm not being kicked out. Why is that?'

"And…I'm still here."

That'd be a no, then.

Another noncommittal noise. Complete stillness, though, this time.

"It's morning," he ventured.

"I had noticed that." Hmmm, dry, slightly irritated…yes, definitely Gautier, he hadn't been possessed during the night…Aramis rather thought _he_ would've noticed, had that happened, in any case.

"Well, you're missing one eye, it's hardly surprising I'm going to wonder about the other one," he snarked back. This was unfamiliar territory. This was 'why the hell is he still here?' territory. This was…this was Gautier being Gautier when he was supposed to have already gone back to being Rochefort. It wasn't natural. It wasn't how things _worked_.

They had…moments, unacknowledged moments. Pieces of time that didn't exist.

That was all they were allowed to have and all Gautier had ever offered him, even before…well. Before.

Gautier's hand shot up and caught his wrist, pulling him over to stare into the aforementioned solitary brown eye. "I suggest you watch what you say, Aramis," he growled. "Or will the sins of the father come visiting the son?"

Only Gautier could turn a quiet morning with a lover into politics and old wounds. (Though said old wounds were, after all, staring him right in the face. Or _not_ staring him right in the face, more to the point.) "Don't start now."

"You live in a fantasy world! You cannot decide if you love me or hate me so you _don't_, you do _both_, and you can't." Anger and behind that desperation -- Aramis had always been brilliant at reading people, even Gautier.

"So that's what this is about."

"Yes, Aramis, _that_ is what this is about." He sat up, all bare chest and tousled hair, and infinitely distracting -- he always had to make meaningful discussions difficult, didn't he? "The fact that you are delusional if you think we can continue this way." His voice lowered, menacingly. "What will you do if it comes down to us?"

He didn't bother pretending to misunderstand. "It won't."

"Athos was a brilliant swordsman -- once, before he began making love to a bottle instead of a whore. Porthos is too dramatic, he plays, he does not fight, and it will be his downfall. D'Artagnan is a child."

Accurate, if unpleasant. "I won't let it," he said, quietly.

"You are a fool, Aramis, but tell me you are not so much a fool that you truly _believe_ that."

"What would you have me do, then?" he demanded. "Tell me, o brilliant one!"

"Walk out that door now and never look back, or stay here with me, but for God's sake man, _make a choice_." The desperation he'd seen earlier he could _hear_ now, the anger fading to a quiet 'why me, God, why?'

He'd dreaded this moment -- for _years_, he dreaded it. He had to make a choice. Choose love, choose a corrupt and tainted angel, choose this one beautiful thing in his life…

Choose duty, choose friendship, choose loyalty and the one _constant_, the one thing he'd known always to be true…

He was too good a man to choose selfishly. And they both knew it.

The best way to shut Gautier up had always been with his mouth, and he was very good at it, so he took shameless advantage of those skills to prevent any further argument. Made it last, because it would _have_ to last. Have to last a lifetime.

Gautier lay back down, and stared up at the ceiling, barely hearing the door close.

It was cold here, outside looking in.

---

"I might…have been mistaken."

…all for one, and one for all…


End file.
